Assassins: Assignment: Jerusalem Target: Antichrist Read online

  Mac nodded. “Best in history and all that.”

  “Yeah, except it needs constant monitoring.”

  “Naturally.”

  “I volunteered for that, and everybody was glad to let me have it,” David said.

  “I’m listening.”

  “So am I.”

  “What?”

  “I monitor the antibugging devices in Carpathia and Fortunato’s offices.”

  “Go on.”

  “My job is to find out if anyone’s trying to listen in. Well, I’m staying on top of it. And in the process I hear anything I want, any time I want.”

  Mac shook his head. “I wouldn’t have minded not knowing that. Man, David, you’re sitting on a time bomb.”

  “Don’t I know it. But it’s untraceable.”

  “Guaranteed?”

  “In one way it’s simple. In another it’s a miracle of technology. The stuff is actually being recorded onto a miniature chip embedded in the central processing unit of the computer that runs all of New Babylon.”

  “The one people like to call the Beast.”

  “Because it contains so much information about every living soul, yeah. But we both know the Beast is no machine.”

  Mac folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “One thing I’ve learned in surveillance work is that you never want to have hard copies of anything. Anything can eventually fall into the wrong hands.”

  “I know,” David said. “Let me tell you how I’ve protected it.”

  Mac looked around. “You sure we’re secure here?”

  “Hey! I’m in charge of that. What we’re saying could wind up on my chip, but no one else will ever hear it. I won’t hear it unless I choose to. If I do, it’s all categorized by date and time and location. And the fidelity is unparalleled.”

  Mac whistled through his teeth. “Someone had to manufacture this for you.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Someone you trust with your life.”

  “You’re looking at him.”

  “So how’d you make sure no one ever finds it?”

  “I’m not guaranteeing that. I’m saying they will never be able to access a thing from it. The chip is slightly smaller than a quarter-inch in diameter and, because of super-compression digital technology, can hold nearly ten years of spoken conversation if recorded twenty-four hours a day. Well, we don’t need that much time, do we?”

  Mac shook his head. “They’ve got to have checks and balances.”

  “They do. But they aren’t going to find anything.”

  “What if they do?”

  David shrugged. “Say someone catches on to me and starts looking for my bugs. They find ’em, trace ’em to the CPU, tear the whole thing apart, and find the chip. It is so heavily encrypted that if they tried random number combinations at the rate of ten thousand digits a second around the clock for a thousand years, they would have barely begun. You know, even a fifteen-digit number has trillions of combinations, but theoretically it could be deciphered. How would you like to try to match an encrypted number containing three hundred million digits?”

  Mac rubbed his eyes. “I was born too early. Where do you kids come up with this craziness? How can you access your chip if it’s that encrypted?”

  David was just warming to his subject. “That’s the beauty of it. I know the formula. I know what pi to the millionth digit has to do with it and how the date and time to the current second have to be used as a multiplier, and how those figures float forward and backward depending on various random factors. The number that would unlock it now is different from the number a second from now, and it doesn’t progress rationally. But let’s say someone were to get far enough into my chip where the only step left was to match the encryption code, a miracle in itself. Even if they knew the number, only a lightning-speed computer grinding away for more than a year could enter it.”

  “Has what you’ve heard been worth the work?”

  “It will be to the Tribulation Force, don’t you think?”

  “But how can you transmit it to them without jeopardizing your security or theirs?”

  David pressed his back to the wall and slid to sit on the floor. “All that’s encrypted too, though certainly not to where it takes them forever to get into it. So far we have been able to communicate by both phone and Carpathia’s own cellular-solar technology on hidden scrambled bands. Of course, he’s constantly on me to find ways to monitor all citizens.”

  “For their own good, no doubt.”

  “Oh, absolutely. The potentate merely cares deeply about the morale of his global family.”

  “But, David, can’t anything transmitted also be intercepted?”

  David shrugged. “I like to think I can bug anything. But I’ve tested my own stuff against my tracing power, and unless I drop enough bread crumbs along the road, I’m powerless too. Random scrambling and channel switching, coordinated with miniaturization and speed that makes fiber optics look like a slow boat . . . well, nothing is beyond possible anymore.”

  Mac stood and stretched. “Ever wonder about this stuff? Like what Dr. Ben-Judah says about Satan being the prince and power of the air? Transmitting through space and all that . . .”

  “Scares me to death,” David said, still sitting. “It means I’m on the front lines against him. I didn’t know what I signed on for when I became a believer, but I wound up on the right side, didn’t I? It’s too late to change my mind. I walk the same halls with Antichrist himself, and I play around in the air with the devil. I’m careful, but the mark of the beast will change everything. There won’t be any believers working here after that, unless they find a way to fake the mark. And who would want to do that?”

  “Not me,” Mac said, unlocking his door. “We’re all going to wind up in one safe house or another one of these days. I sure hope mine’s the same as yours.”

  David was so moved by that compliment that he was too stunned to respond. “Long flight Friday,” Mac added. “I’ve got to find out who’s tagging along with Leon and whether I can get Abdullah in here in time to help.”

  The tension of his role, exciting as it should have been for a young man, weighed on David. But he headed toward his own quarters with a lighter step.

  Floyd was quiet. The morphine must have done its work. Buck slowed as he drew within a mile of the safe house. He peered in the rearview mirror. He had not been followed. His phone startled him. “Buck here,” he said.

  “You were going to keep me posted,” Chloe said.

  “Almost home. A few minutes.”

  “Is Floyd with you?”

  “Yeah, but he’s not well.”

  “Hattie and I changed his bed and freshened the room.”

  “Good. I’m going to need help with him.”

  “Is he all right, Buck? Are you?”

  “I’ll see you soon, hon.”

  “Buck! Is everything all right?”

  “Please, Chloe. I’ll see you in a minute.”

  “All right,” she said, sounding displeased.

  He clicked the phone shut and dropped it in his pocket. He glanced at Leah. “Is he going to last the night?”

  “I’m sorry, Buck. He’s gone.”

  Buck slammed on the brake and they lurched forward as the Rover slid in the dirt. “What?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Buck turned in his seat. Leah had covered Floyd’s face again, but the sudden stop had pressed his body against the back of the front seat.

  “Do you know who this man is?” Buck said, his own desperate voice scaring him.

  “I know he was a good doctor and courageous.”

  “He risked his life to tell me where the GC took Chloe. Came there himself to help her escape. Stayed up for days with Hattie. Saved her life. The miscarriage. Delivered our son. Was never too big to pitch in with the hard work.”

  “I’m so sorry, Buck.”

  Buck pulled the sheet from Floyd’s face. In the darkness he could bar
ely make it out. He turned on the inside light and recoiled at the death mask. Floyd’s teeth were bared, his eyes open, still filled with blood around the pupils. “Oh, Doc!” he said.

  Leah turned in her seat and rummaged in her bag for latex gloves. She carefully closed Floyd’s eyes and mouth, massaging his cheeks until he looked more asleep than dead. “Help me with that shoulder,” she said. Buck took one side and Leah the other, and they tugged at the body until Floyd looked more naturally reposed. Buck drove slowly, avoiding ruts and bumps.

  When he pulled up to the safe house, the curtain parted and he saw Chloe peer out. She was nursing Kenny. He drove around the side but stopped short of the backyard. “Give me a minute,” he said. “You don’t mind staying here with him—”

  “Go,” Leah said.

  Chloe held open the back door with one hand, Kenny now over her other shoulder. “Who’s with you?” she said. “I didn’t see Floyd.”

  Buck was spent. He leaned forward to peck Chloe on the cheek, then did the same to Kenny, just as the baby burped. “Can you put him down?” he said.

  “Buck—”

  “Please,” he said. “I need to talk to everybody.”

  The others were already waiting in the kitchen. Chloe went to put the baby down and quickly returned. Rayford sat at the table, and it was clear from his clothes he had spent hours working in the basement. Hattie sat on the table. Tsion, with a sad, knowing look, leaned against the refrigerator.

  Buck found it hard to speak, and Chloe came to him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “We have another martyr,” he said, and told the story, including that Leah was waiting in the car with Floyd’s body.

  Tsion hung his head. “God bless him,” he said, his voice thick.

  Hattie looked stricken. “He caught that from me? He died because of me?”

  Chloe wrapped Buck in her arms and wept with him. “Are any of us susceptible?”

  Buck shook his head. “We would have had symptoms by now. Floyd had symptoms but didn’t tell us.”

  Buck stole a glance at Rayford. They would all look to him. Tsion would pray, but Rayford would walk them through the decision on Leah, the burial, everything. Yet Rayford had not moved. He sat without expression, forearms on the table. When Rayford’s eyes met his, Buck sensed he was demanding to know what was expected.

  Where was Rayford the Leader, their take-charge guy?

  “We, ah, shouldn’t leave Leah out there long,” Buck said. “And we’re going to have to do something with the body.”

  Rayford still stared at Buck, who could not hold his gaze. Had Buck done something wrong? Had he any choice other than to race off with Floyd to the hospital, then bring him back, Leah in tow?

  “Daddy?” Chloe said softly.

  “What?” Rayford said flatly, turning his eyes on her.

  “I just . . . I’m . . . we’re wondering—”

  “What?” he said. “What! You’re wondering what we’re supposed to do now?” He stood, his chair sliding against the wall and rattling onto its side. “Well, so am I!” Buck had never before heard him raise his voice. “So am I!” Rayford railed. “How much can we take? How much are we supposed to take?”

  Rayford picked up his chair and slammed it upright so hard that it bounced. He kicked it against the wall again and it flew back toward the table, chasing Hattie into Tsion’s arms.

  “Rayford,” Tsion said quietly.

  The chair would not have hit Hattie. It hit the edge of the table and spun, coming to rest next to Rayford. He yanked it to where he could sit again and slammed both fists on the table.

  Tsion released Hattie, who was shaking. “I think we should—,” he began, but Rayford cut him off.

  “Forgive me,” he said, clearly still fuming and seemingly unable to look anyone in the eye. “Get Leah in here and then let’s get the body buried. Tsion, would you say a few—”

  “Of course. I suggest we make Leah comfortable, then have the burial, then spend more time with her.”

  Rayford nodded. “Forgive me,” he said again.

  Buck backed the Rover into the yard, then brought Leah in and introduced her to everyone. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said. “I didn’t know Dr. Charles well, but—”

  “We were about to pray,” Tsion said. “Then we would like to get to know you.”

  “Certainly.”

  When Tsion knelt on the hard floor, the others followed, except Hattie, who remained standing. “God, our Father,” Tsion began, his voice weak and quavery. “We confess we are beyond our strength to keep coming to you at terrible times like this, when we have lost one of our family. We do not want to accept it. We do not know how much more we can bear. All we can do is trust in your promise that we shall one day see our dear brother again in the land where sorrow shall be turned to singing, and where there shall be no more tears.”

  When the prayer was over, Buck moved toward the cellar stairs.

  “Where are you going?” Rayford said.

  “To get shovels.”

  “Just bring one.”

  “It’s a big job, Ray. Many hands—”

  “Just bring one, Buck. Now, Ms. Rose, I want to be clear on this. Floyd died from the poison Carpathia used to try to kill Hattie, is that right?”

  “That’s my understanding.”

  “Straight answer, ma’am.”

  “Sir, I know only what Dr. Charles told me. I have no personal knowledge of how Hattie was poisoned, but it seems clear that Floyd was contaminated by her, yes.”

  “So Nicolae Carpathia is responsible for this death.”

  Buck was impressed that Leah did not appear obligated to reply.

  “This was murder, people,” Rayford added. “Pure and simple.”

  “Rayford,” Tsion said, “Carpathia likely has never heard of Doc Charles, and so, technically, while it is safe to say he tried to have Miss Durham killed—”

  “I’m not talking court-of-law guilty,” Rayford said, his face flushed. “I’m saying the poison Carpathia intended to kill someone killed Doc.”

  Tsion shrugged resignedly.

  “Now, Buck,” Rayford said, “where’s my shovel?”

  “Please let me help,” Buck said.

  Rayford stood and straightened. “Save me from saying one more thing I’ll regret tomorrow, would you, Buck? This is something I want to do myself. Something I need to do, all right?”

  “But it should actually be deeper than six feet, so close to the house and—” Buck held up both hands in surrender to Rayford’s out-of-patience look. He found the biggest shovel in the cellar.

  While Rayford toiled in the backyard, Leah talked about the most sanitary way to prepare the body. Unable to find lime with which to line the grave, she concocted a substitute made from kitchen products. “And,” she told Buck, “we should wrap the body in a plastic tarp.” She distributed gloves for those who would touch the body and prescribed a solution for disinfecting the Rover and the gurney.

  Buck was amazed at what Rayford accomplished, considering he had worked all day in the shelter. He dug a hole seven feet long, three feet wide, and more than eight feet deep. He needed help to be hoisted out, covered with mud. The three men lowered Floyd’s tarpaulin-shrouded body into the hole, and Rayford allowed the others to help fill it back in.

  The group, save the sleeping baby, stood around the grave in the low light emitted from the house. Chloe, Hattie, and Leah were bundled against the cool night air. The men, sweaty from the shovel work, soon shivered.

  Buck never ceased to be amazed at Tsion’s eloquence. “Blessed in the sight of the Lord is the death of a saint,” he said. “Floyd Charles was our brother, a beloved, earnest member of our family. Anyone who would like to say a word about him, please do so now, and I will pray.”

  “I knew him to be a gifted physician and a brave believer,” Leah said.

  Buck said, “Every time I think of him I’ll think of our baby and of Chloe’s health.”

  “Me
too,” Chloe said. “So many memories in such a short time.”

  Hattie stood shaking, and Buck noticed Rayford looking at her, as if expecting her to say something. She glanced at him and then away, then shook her head.

  “Nothing,” Rayford said. “You have nothing to say about the man who saved your life.”

  “Rayford,” Tsion said.

  “Of course I do!” Hattie said, her voice pinched. “I can’t believe he died because of me! I don’t know what to say! I hope he’s gone to his reward.”

  “Let me tell you something else,” Rayford said, his anger evidently unabated. “Floyd loved you, Hattie. You treated him like dirt, but he loved you.”

  “I know,” she said, a whine in her voice. “I know you all love me in your own w—”

  “I’m telling you he loved you. Loved you. Cared deeply for you, wanted to tell you.”

  “You mean—? You couldn’t know that.”

  “He told me! I think he’d want you to know.”

  “Rayford,” Tsion said, putting a hand on his shoulder, “anything else you would like to say about Floyd?”

  “This is a death that must be avenged. Like Ken’s and Amanda’s and Bruce’s.”

  “Vengeance is the Lord’s,” Tsion said.

  “If only he would include me in that,” Rayford said.

  Tsion looked hard at him. “Be careful about wishing for things you do not really want,” he said. “Let me close in prayer.” But Buck could not hear him. Rayford had begun to weep. His breath came in great heaves and he covered his mouth with his hand. Soon he could not contain the sobs, and he fell to his knees and wailed in the night. Chloe rushed to him and held him.

  “It’s all right, Daddy,” she said as she helped him up and walked him into the house. “It’s all right.”

  Rayford pulled away from her and rushed up the stairs. Buck took Chloe in his arms, and the mud that had transferred to her from her father also smeared his clothes.

  Rayford was thankful for the well and the generator-run water heater as he stood under the steaming shower in the safe house. His muscles were finally untying. What a day! The inexplicable anger that had sent him marching into the morning air had been building for months. Working in the cellar had not dented it, especially when he found himself alone all day. The awful news about Floyd had finally made him erupt in a way he hadn’t since a loud fight with Irene fifteen years before. And that had been the result of too much alcohol.